Clover and Lilacs
by Shunyata Ryuen
Summary: An AU fic in which Chiriko shows up a few minutes earlier, and Suzaku is called successfully. But, with Miaka gone...what will become of the seishi? Hotohori/Nuriko, eventually. (Yes, again. :P Stop looking at me like that. :))
1. Part I: Farewell, Miaka...Forever / S...

DISCLAIMER: None of this belongs to me. In fact, very little belongs to me. I haven't eaten in five months. Send help...send...*choke*...help...  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE1: Okay, okay...I realize I've got "And Then It Changes," I've got that hideous little "Rain" story...but, I can't help it. I want to do more with Hotohori and Nuriko...I want to give them the perfect setting, the perfect turn-out, the perfect story! Join me in my quest! I will accomplish it! I wiiiiiiiiiiill! *firm nod* Wish me luck. Perhaps this one will be the one. ^_^.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: This is an AU fic. To understand where the fic begins, you must understand this--in this story, Chiriko arrives a few minutes earlier, events with Amiboshi proceed as they did previously (e.g., him falling into the river and "dying")...but, the ceremony is able to conclude, then, and actually WORKS this time, seeing as Miaka never had the chance to burn the bloody scroll. Okay...now that I've explained that...onward we go! ^_^.  
  
---  
  
"Clover and Lilacs"  
by Ryuen  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
Part 1: Farewell, Miaka...Forever.  
Segment 1: The First Wish.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The words were still echoing in the chamber when the sky exploded with a fierce, bursting crimson light. Reflexively, the seishi winced...but, none could tear their eyes from the blinding, brilliant red glow of Suzaku's approach. None could look away...and, so none did. They stood in utter silence, gazing up into that light...watching in awe and astonishment and disbelief as the great phoenix descended upon them.   
  
"Suzaku," Miaka murmured. Her voice was low, reverent...barely above a whisper...but, all heard. Even with the great swoosh of massive, scarlet-feathered wings, even with the chilling screech of Suzaku's cry rising like a scream in their ears...even with the low, rumbling weight of the god's presence dropping down upon them...they all heard.   
  
Hotohori gazed up into the crimson brilliance with wide, glistening amber eyes, barely able to force himself to blink for fear he might miss something...might miss out on just one instant of the final, final appearance of the god he'd worshipped for so long. An inexplicable wash of tears sprang to his eyes, streamed in silent rivulets down his cheeks...but, he didn't even bother to wipe them away, merely stood there, stunned and in awe, and watched as Miaka was swept up into the wash of scarlet light...and tugged off into oblivion...into the place where all her wishes would come true.   
  
Peace would come to Konan...she and that girl, Seiryuu no Miko...they would be friends again. And... Hotohori felt the thought trail off, winced slightly as a dark, heavy pain thudded into his stomach, trembled up his spine.  
  
And, she and Tamahome would be together. Forever.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The light was almost painful to look at it--it seared into his vision, ripped straight through to the back of his skull...but, he didn't dare look away. Even if it meant burning out his own retinas, risking blindness or torture or death...he wouldn't look away--he couldn't. A light sheen of thankful, amazed tears glistened in the soft, rosy violet of his eyes, trickled through the thick darkness of his eyelashes and onto his smooth, pale cheek. He wanted to reach up a hand, wipe the tears away...but, he couldn't move--didn't want to move. To move would be to break the spell, to risk missing out on a moment of staring into the face of the god himself... No. He didn't dare move.  
  
As he stared out at the glimmering, red-feathered beauty that was Suzaku, however, he suddenly remembered the other seishi...and, Miaka. It was strange...but, as he'd watched Suzaku descend from the heavens, as he'd watched the culmination of all their hard work and sacrifice finally come together, coalesce into this very real, very immense creature...he'd felt as if he stood all alone, a lone figure standing strong in the center of a sweeping windstorm. Tamahome wasn't standing just beside him, the other seishi weren't arranged in a rough circle around the fire, Miaka wasn't standing there at the center of the room with her hands clasped and that look of awe in her eyes...he was all alone...gazing up into the scarlet eyes of Suzaku...the god...HIS god. All alone...  
  
Now, however, as he remembered the presence of the others, he risked a moment of prying his attention away from Suzaku to glance at them...and noticed, almost immediately, the slim, regally-robed form of Hotohori. The man--who was, he'd discovered a few days ago, only two weeks or so younger than he himself was--stood silently on the other side of the circle, hands clasped reverently before him, smooth, bronze-skinned face turned respectfully upwards...a thin stream of cool, trickling tears running in lines over his cheeks, dripping into tiny puddles from the edge of his chin.  
  
Hotohori-sama was...crying?  
  
The massive form of Suzaku was forgotten for a long moment as he stared openly at the young emperor, for some reason unable to tear his eyes away from those attractive, chiseled features, that smooth, bronzed skin...that streaking mass of tears. Because, somehow...it felt as if he were no longer alone in this windstorm that was Suzaku...as if he and Hotohori stood together, united by the salt of their tears, powerful and unstoppable and strong...yes. He wasn't alone anymore...even if it was just for this moment...even if Hotohori had no idea. For now...he wasn't alone anymore.  
  
Nuriko closed his eyes briefly, was vaguely aware of a light breeze of warm, fragrant air sweeping through the chamber, rushing over his skin and leaving it tingling and cool. He'd intended, then, to return his attention to Miaka...to watch this climactic scene play itself out...but, when he opened his eyes, he realized with a bit of a start that Hotohori was staring at him.  
  
A jolt ran through his body, shivered down his spine...and he didn't dare look away.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
It was difficult, to tear his eyes away from Suzaku...but, he felt something heavy pressing against his skin, felt a sudden tugging in a different direction...and so he ripped away his gaze, glanced out at the assembled seishi...and came to a jarring, unexpected halt.   
  
Nuriko was...crying?  
  
The older seishi's eyes were lightly closed, making way for a slight, unstoppable trickle of tears--they seeped out through the thick wall of his eyelashes, streaked in thin white lines over the pale, marble-like beauty of his cheeks. And, for some reason...Hotohori found he couldn't look away. Even when Nuriko opened his eyes, caught him staring...he couldn't look away.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Kai...jin."  
  
Abruptly, Nuriko realized something had changed...something was happening... Startled and feeling the awe again beginning to creep into his veins, seep over his skin and into his heart, Nuriko gazed up into the glowing crimson light of Suzaku's earthly form, watched as Miaka--now shimmering with a reddish light of her own--took a short step forward, raised her arms as if to latch onto one of those bright, glittering feathers.   
  
"Suzaku," she stated firmly. The dark brown layers of her hair swept about her face in slim, fluttering ribbons, and the light fabric of her ceremonial robes flickered over her knees and ankles, swept over her skin like wavering fields of grain. "For my first wish, Suzaku..." She trailed off, seem to hesitate for a moment...then, suddenly, drew in a long breath, let it out in a quick huff through her nostrils. "Bring peace to Konan!" she exclaimed. Her voice echoed wildly through the room, magnified tenfold by the immensity of Suzaku's power behind her. "Bring peace to Konan, and let all the people live in happiness and peace for the rest of their lives!"  
  
Suzaku seemed to nod. "It will be done," a deep voice whispered.  
  
A moment later, there was an even brighter flash of crimson light, a deep rumble of movement along with the telltale fluttering of heavy wings...and then, abruptly and with a great whoosh of air, the light winked out...the sound faded into nothingness...and Miaka fell to her knees on the ground.   
  
Snapped from the spell by the sudden burst of silence, Nuriko shook his head slightly as if to clear it, spent a brief moment glancing around the chamber in confusion. Suzaku was...gone?  
  
"Miaka!" It was Hotohori. The young emperor was at the girl's side in an instant, placing gentle hands on her shoulders, staring down at her with wide, concerned amber eyes. Nuriko let out a soft sigh, shook his head again...then, hurried to Miaka's side, knelt down beside her.  
  
"Ne, Miaka," he said slowly. "Daijobu?"  
  
Breathing heavily and looking weary but happy, Miaka glanced up at him, offered a slim smile. "Ne, Nuriko," she murmured. "Dai...daijobu. Just...tired."  
  
"Oi, I don't get it!" came a loud voice from across the chamber. A moment later, the flame-haired bandit had loped his way to the platform, stood with one fist resting on his hip as he stared down at the slim form of his miko. "Oi, Miaka...where'd Suzaku go? I dont' @#(*&$ get it."  
  
Positioned, as they were, on either side of Miaka, the violet-haired seishi's gaze inevitably met up with Hotohori's, lingered for a moment as both considered the outcome of the ceremony.  
  
"He's...inside of me," Miaka said at last, her voice soft...whispery. By this time, the other seishi and a concerned-looking Tamahome had made their way to her side, were staring down at her with wide eyes.  
  
Nuriko blinked. "Inside of you?" he echoed.   
  
Miaka nodded. "Un. 'Merge with me three times. Use my power three times.' That's...that's what he told me." She smiled a bit weakly. "Ne, that means only two wishes left...have to...make them count..." Abruptly, the girl seemed to lose all strength and fell weakly to the side. Hotohori's arms were around her a moment later, holding her up, supporting her lolling head gently against his chest.   
  
Reflexively, Nuriko glanced back to Tamahome, found the younger man standing just behind Hotohori, hands clenched into tiny, silent fists at his sides...but, Tamahome said nothing...only stared. His eyes were narrow and dark, his features hard...solid with a kind of strength Nuriko found himself inexplicably envying.  
  
//He's confident that Miaka loves him. Even having Hotohori-sama touch her like this...he knows it won't change how she feels.\\   
  
Before the eighteen-year-old had any more time to reflect, however, Miaka was stirring in Hotohori's arms, lifting her head slightly and managing a small smile. "Gomen ne," she offered softly. "I'm worn out. Merging with an animal god isn't as easy...as I thought it would be." The girl drew in a soft breath, let it out slowly through her nostrils. "Ne, Hotohori...could you help me back to my room? I...I need to rest."  
  
Hotohori nodded immediately, somehow managed to get his feet beneath him while still maintaining his grip on Miaka. A moment later, he was walking strongly towards the far-off chamber door, the other six seishi following in silent formation just behind their emperor. In spite of his own need to be near to Miaka--and Hotohori, of course--Nuriko let Tamahome walk just behind the robed ruler, elected instead to stay near the back with Tasuki and Chichiri. Despite the two's seeming differences, he'd noticed recently that the pair seemed to be together more often than not, striking up a tentative friendship in the rushed, mangled world of Suzaku shichiseishi. As the eight of them began the silent trek down the immense palace stairs, Nuriko found himself reflecting on that for a moment...and felt a soft, flickering sorrow kindling in his heart, radiating through his mind in dark, growing waves.  
  
//I'm the only one who has no one,\\ he realized silently. //Chichiri has Tasuki, Tamahome has Miaka, Hotohori-sama has Miaka, Mitsukake has Chiriko...or, he did, anyway, before Chiriko decided to try to kill us all...\\  
  
Regardless...he'd already witnessed the way the other six tended to fit into their preordained grooves--Hotohori, Tamahome, and Miaka were one groove, Chichiri and Tasuki another, Mitsukake and the boy...Chiriko...they were another. Even now, he could see how the older man walked strongly beside the youngest of them all, cast occasional protective glances in the boy's direction...yes. Mitsukake and the new Chiriko would be friends...almost certainly. And, so what of him? Who did he have?   
  
No one.  
  
Nuriko let out a soft sigh, forced himself to put aside the depressing thoughts for now, to focus, instead, on the exciting events of the day...the exciting moments still yet to come. They'd finally called Suzaku, were finally going to make all their wishes come true...and, say goodbye to Miaka...Tamahome, too, maybe. For some reason, it hurt to think of that, to consider that upcoming farewell...but, he bore it, as he bore all things. The strength of the boy who'd survived his sister's death trickled to the surface, became a hard, impenetrable mask over his features.  
  
Even if he had no one...even if Miaka was going to be leaving soon, thus ending--not only their friendship--but his life as a shichiseishi as well...he would be strong. He had to be. Because, if he wasn't...then, what was there?  
  
Nothing. Nothing at all.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The door to Miaka's room slid quietly open...and the tall, broad-shouldered figure of the young emperor stepped out, tugged it closed behind him. The sky had darkened since he entered the chambers so many hours ago, leaving a thick, shadowed streak of grey and midnight blue creeping up over the edge of the horizon, casting a mass of heavy shadows over the palace grounds. The walkway itself was firm and solid beneath his feet, and from experience he knew that the railing was just four steps away, the curving wall just in arm's reach...but, aside from the far-off glimmer of moonlight peering from behind a thick mass of clouds, all was dark...and Hotohori was left clinging to the wall to find his way back to his own chambers.  
  
As he reached for the wall, however, his foot thudded into something soft, and he stopped, startled, as a light yelp of surprise sounded from the walkway floor. He peered down into the darkness for a long moment, straining to see through the mass of shadows...but finally gave up, the echoes of the voice still ringing in his ears, familiar and almost welcome.   
  
"Nuriko?" he asked, raising one speculative eyebrow. He tried, again, to make out some sign of the other seishi through the blackness of the night, but all he could see was the vague outline of Nuriko's head and shoulders, the barest glimmer of violet hair in the far-off glow of the moonlight. From what he could see, however, it seemed that the older man had been sitting against the wall just beside Miaka's door, legs tugged to his chest, chin resting lightly on his knees. Now that he'd been discovered, however, the violet-haired seishi rose with a soft grunt to his feet, brushed briefly at his clothing.  
  
"Gomen ne, Hotohori-sama," Nuriko murmured, sounding vaguely embarrassed. "I must've drifted off...gomen."  
  
The young emperor shook his head, offered a smile he knew Nuriko couldn't see. "It's all right, Nuriko. Don't apologize." He paused slightly, studied the other man as best he could in the darkness, taking in the slight hesitancy to his words, the odd tenseness to his posture in general...was something bothering him? Shaking his head slightly, Hotohori took a short step back, folded his arms lightly over his chest. "Miaka is sleeping," he said softly, guessing at Nuriko's reasons for sitting in such a place. "Demo...if you'll wait until morning, I'm sure she'll be--"  
  
Nuriko laughed softly, cutting through his words. "Iie, Hotohori-sama," he said after a moment, the traces of the smile still twisting at his words. "I wasn't here waiting for Miaka."  
  
Hotohori raised a slim, imperial eyebrow. "Oh? Who were you waiting for, then?"  
  
The truth struck into him even before the older man answered, made a slight shiver creep its way through his body, tingle down the length of his spine. "I was waiting for you," Nuriko murmured.   
  
The young emperor drew in a sharp breath, struggled for a moment to find words...any words...what could he say to such a thing? Of course, he'd gathered that Nuriko had had something of a crush on him when they first met, but that was natural--all the harem women (or men, in this case) had some sort of longing for the emperor--it was normal, expected even...but, this... There was such...need in Nuriko's voice, such helpless, unstoppable longing... Yet, it was the kind of dark, secret desire that he would never have been able to detect had they stood in a fully-lit room. For some reason, Nuriko's wide smiles and relaxed, casual movements somehow cancelled out any worry that the man might be sheltering deeper, darker thoughts...but, of course, he must have them--he was a human being, after all...and, everyone--Nuriko, even Chichiri--had to experience such thoughts from time to time....right?   
  
In a fully lit room, Nuriko would be smiling at him, looking innocent and pleasant and like nothing ever troubled him or even came close to touching his heart. But, now...in the cooling shelter of the darkness...he could hear the slight edge to the words, somehow sense the very real despair lurking just beneath the surface...and the longing. The longing in Nuriko's voice bit into him like sharpened teeth, made him wince in real, honest pain. Because, Nuriko was hurting...and, it was all because of HIM.  
  
Before he had a chance to get a better of a grip on his thoughts, Nuriko had overcome the sudden silence and was stumbling onward, and Hotohori could practically see those pale cheeks flushing a bright red, those slim fingers kneading nervously in front of him. His voice was even and measured again, the traces of that forced smile tugging once more at his lips.  
  
Nuriko cleared his throat. "That is...I was waiting for you to tell you that Chichiri and the others wanted to talk to you, before you went to bed...Heika."  
  
The word almost felt like an insult. After all they'd been through...after all they'd shared...to be called "Heika" now, by this man...it was a slap in the face, and more proof--if he needed it--of the fact that he'd somehow struck a nerve with Nuriko, that the secretive young man was pulling out all his concealing tricks, doing his best to cover that darkened longing the best he could...but, of course, it was too late. He'd heard...he'd understood. He wondered, briefly, if Nuriko himself understood.  
  
But...he couldn't think about this now. Nuriko mattered to him, yes...but, there was Miaka to deal with, and the other seishi...yes. Nuriko would have to wait.   
  
"Hai," Hotohori said firmly, nodding slightly in thanks. "Arrigato, Nuriko."   
  
Then, without another word, the younger man turned, pressed one slim-fingered hand to the wall, and began the long, touch-and-feel trek back to his chambers. It wasn't until he reached the welcoming warmth of his rooms that he remembered the moment, today, when he and Nuriko locked gazes across the glowing brilliance of the ceremonial chambers, identical streams of salty tears streaking over their cheeks, joining them in a single, unstoppable moment of understanding and joint strength.  
  
It had been a strange moment...and Nuriko the last person he would've expected to share it with.  
  
Demo... Hotohori shook his head, settled into the depths of his chair and closed his eyes. Demo...Nuriko was a man. He would just have to let him down easily, somehow explain that he loved Miaka--always would. Hai...that was what he would do. First thing in the morning, of course. He groaned inwardly, suddenly remembered what Nuriko had said about the other seishi waiting for him, wanting to talk to him... Groaning softly under his breath, the young emperor rose to his feet. He spent a moment smoothing out the thick fabric of his robes, then set out into the darkened shadows of the night once more, eyes trained on the far-off glint of lamplight coming from Chichiri's bedroom.   
  
He moved swiftly...and never noticed the eyes following him through the darkness...or the soft murmurs of footsteps just behind him.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
*AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, ANOTHER author's note. *sweatdrop* Hehe. Isn't the title nice and sappy? *sniffle* Took me forever to think of it...I may change it...eh, anyway. I'm liking how this fic is going...and, since I've had a severe case of writer's block all day, I'm extreeeeeeemely glad I was able to make something coherent of this. ^_^. *ahem* But, anyway. Since you're already the whooooooole way down here, let me know what you think. And, if you absolutely hate it, don't worry. I like flames. They provide enough warmth to heat a modestly-sized home through most of the bitter winter months...plus, if you angle them correctly and channel the heat JUUUUST right, it's possible to create splendid dishes of scrambled eggs and other such small foodstuffs. *clears throat lightly* But, anyway. Review. I'll lavish you with kisses...or...*cough*...well, maybe I'll just thank you. Hrm. Yeah. Bye-bye. :) -Ryuen 


	2. Part I: Farewell, Miaka...Forever / Seg...

"Clover and Lilacs" - continued from 1  
  
---  
  
Part I (continued): Farewell, Miaka...Forever  
Segment 2: Unexpected Intrusion  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
The soft thudding of Hotohori's footsteps faded away...and, Nuriko was once again alone. The young seishi let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, sank back down to his place on the hard wooden boards of the walkway. A moment later, he'd drawn his legs up to his chest, enwrapped them with the steady presence of his arms...and rested his chin lightly on the edge of his knees.   
  
"Baka," he whispered, his voice echoing softly through the thick silence of the night. "Honto ni. Baka."  
  
He sat there for a few moments longer, gazing up into the far-off glimmer of the night sky, the soft, cool breeze of the night wind sweeping over his skin, brushing the dampened hair back from his forehead... He closed his eyes, drew in a long, sweet breath. The imperial gardens rested just beyond the walkway, far at the end of the immense palace lawn...but even from such a distance, he could catch the faint scents of lilacs blooming in the darkness, of pine and earth and cherry blossoms...of the salty, moistened tang of the river. Nuriko drew in another long breath, let it out very, very slowly through his nostrils. Each breath calmed him more and more, sent the nervous sweat fleeing from his palms, the churning anxiety fading from his stomach. He was going to be all right. Even if he'd just made an idiot of himself in front of the only man whose opinions mattered to him...it was going to be all right.  
  
He was just gathering his thoughts together and rising to his feet...when, abruptly, a cry from just behind him made him freeze, muscles tensed and eyes wide. He stared into the thick darkness, barely breathing, barely moving, only looking...searching...it was another moment before the sound was repeated.  
  
Nuriko drew in a sharp breath. Miaka...!  
  
He turned and shoved the door open with all his strength...with the unfortunate result of the door flying off its hinges, going smashing into the wall before it fell with a crash to the ground. He winced at the sound...but, there was no helping it. He stared into the darkened room with wide, anxious eyes, the breath gasping in and out of his lungs, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest.  
  
"Miaka?" he called into the darkness. He took a few steps, thought he caught a glimpse of movement in the corner. "Miaka, doushita no?"  
  
It was quiet. Much, much too quiet. Suddenly regretting announcing his presence to whatever might lie in the darkness, Nuriko slid carefully away from the soft light of the doorway, pressed his back against the wall and drew in a short breath. Nothing seemed to be moving in here right now...but, he could sense something...tingling at the back of his neck like a whisper...yes, something was here...someone was here. But, Miaka...gods, was she all right?   
  
He'd been standing there, back resting lightly against the wall, for a few seconds when, abruptly, there was a flurry of movement from just ahead of him...and, suddenly, something thudded hard into his stomach, sent his head slamming back into the wall with enough force to make stars flit in front of his eyes. He didn't dare cry out, though...instead, Nuriko ducked low to the ground, sent a fist flying in the general direction of the intruder...and felt his knuckles connect with something hard...armor? Before he had a chance to gather his thoughts any more or try to lash out at the attacker, however, something that felt a lot like the toe of a boot smashed hard into his ribs, sent him tumbling onto his side on the ground. He landed hard, his head crashing against the wooden floorboards, and was forced to lay there for a long moment, trying vainly to fight back the hot, agonizing pain, exploding from his head...his stomach...his chest. The breath rasped in and out his nostrils with audible difficulty, and there was a great, flooding warmth seeping into his lungs, dragging him into a heavy darkness...but, no! No...Miaka...  
  
"Miaka," he managed, crawling up onto his knees, latching onto what felt like the edge of the bedpost and dragging himself to his feet. "Miaka, if you're here, answer me! MIAKA!"  
  
"She can't hear you."  
  
He drew in a sharp breath...and winced, immediately, as the effort of the gasp ripped at the wound in his side, stabbed into his lungs. "You," he hissed. "You...you bastard. Where's Miaka??"  
  
Nakago seemed to smile. "That," he said softly, "is none of your concern." There was a swish of a cape, then, and a brief glow of blue. "You should tell your magician to work on his barrier spells," the man said calmly, the smile twisting tauntingly at his words. "They aren't very effective." The soft aura of blue intensified for a moment, granting Nuriko a brief glimpse of those laughing blue eyes, that thick blond hair...and, then Nakago was gone, and the room was dark once more.  
  
The strength bled out of his legs...and Nuriko fell to his knees on the floor, spent a long moment struggling against the pain...struggling to breathe...and it was then that he realized that it had not been a boot smashing into his ribs, hadn't been a boot at all...no. The blood was hot and slick against his fingers, searing out from the wound in his side...searing out from where the dagger had slid into his chest.   
  
He fell to the floor, let out a heavy breath of anguish...and lay still.  
  
---  
  
Hotohori came to a sudden stop in the center of the walkway, the far-off echo of the crash reverberating loudly in his ears, sending the fearful tingle shivering up his spine...something was wrong...something was very, very wrong...! He turned, tensed his muscles to run...and abruptly became aware of a soft whisper of movement from the side of the walkway, a rustle of cloth and armor...the breath seemed to freeze in his lungs. Someone was in the palace...  
  
Gods, Miaka...!  
  
"Who's there?" he called in his sternest, most imperial voice. A moment later, the sword was free of its sheath and in his hands, glistening softly in the far-off glint of moonlight. "Answer me!"  
  
Before whoever it was had a chance to respond, however, there came a flurry of movement from farther down the walkway, and the sound of many feet thudding inot the wooden floorboards.  
  
"Hotohori-sama!"  
  
He turned reflexively, caught a brief glance of Chichiri and the others running towards him...and, then, there was a rush of footsteps in the darkness in front of him, and the sound of someone running away...by the time Chichiri and his lantern grew close enough to bathe the walkway in a warm, golden glow...whoever had been standing there was gone. Hotohori let out a soft breath, let the sword droop in his fingers.  
  
"Hotohori-sama," Chichiri said breathlessly. "I sense a very strong chi no da...and--"  
  
He broke off, winced as if in pain. Hotohori was just opening his mouth to ask what was wrong...but, then, he felt it, too. It speared into him like a blade, ripped through his chest and sent a numbing, anguished heat roaring over his skin. He stumbled, caught onto the railing...and noticed that the others, too, seemed to be feeling it, were staring wide-eyed and shocked into the heavy darkness.  
  
"Chichiri-san!" Chiriko exclaimed, sounding nervous and a bit fearful. "Did you feel that?"  
  
The monk inclined his head a fraction of an inch, brought a hand to his face and tugged at the mask. "Hai," he answered quietly.   
  
Tasuki took an angry step forward, grabbed onto the blue-haired seishi's arm and shook it lightly. "Well, what the @(#$*&$ does it mean??"  
  
Chichiri swallowed hard. "It means...something's happened to one of us no da."  
  
Hotohori shook his head, uncomprehending. "But, we're all here...except for--" His eyes widened, and a cold, anguished darkness began to claw at his heart, rip into his mind...no... "Nuriko," he whispered.  
  
The young emperor turned and began to run down the walkway, his feet thudding dully into the wooden floorboards, the sword dangling loosely from his fingers. He barely breathed.  
  
Uncertain and fearful, the others followed.  
  
--- 


	3. Part I: Farewell, Miaka...Forever / Seg...

"Clover and Lilacs" - continued from 2  
  
---  
  
Part I: Farewell, Miaka...Forever  
Segment 3: Nuriko  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
The door to Miaka's room was gone...and, so was Miaka. Hotohori took a long step into the room, eyes turning reflexively towards the empty bed...and drew in a heavy breath, let it out slowly through his nostrils. Miaka was gone. She was...she was gone. Gods, why? Why, when they'd FINALLY called Suzaku, when they were FINALLY making things right...why now?   
  
The soft flicker of Chichiri's approaching lamp shed more light on the darkened room, drew a new, golden warmth to the chamber...and brought into view the still, motionless form lying in a growing pool of crimson in the corner. Hotohori felt the blood drain from his face, the breath seep out of his lungs...and a cold, spasming chill work its way over his flesh, ripple down the length of his spine. Nuriko lay limply on his side, the thick, untamed violet of his hair hanging in blood-dampened waves over his shoulders and back, his eyes lightly closed, no sign of breath or movement...no sign of life.   
  
"Nuriko," he whispered.  
  
A moment later, he was on his knees on the floor, the hot liquid of Nuriko's blood seeping into the fabric of his robes, staining them a dark, dampened scarlet. He was vaguely aware of the others coming to a dead halt just behind him, of the lamplight shaking in Chichiri's fingers...but, he barely noticed...barely noticed at all. Because, Nuriko...gods! Just a few minutes ago...just a few minutes ago, he'd been talking to this man, and he'd told himself...oh, GOD, he'd told himself that Nuriko could wait! That he would wait and deal with him later, talk to him later, figure things out later...but, now...now, there wasn't going to be a later, was there?  
  
Because, Nuriko was dead. Nuriko was...dead.  
  
He stretched out his arms, gathered those slim, lifeless shoulders into them...and lifted Nuriko up from the ground, held him against his chest...held onto him tightly and tried not to cry. It wasn't fair. This was his fault...his fault that this man...this man who'd loved him, who'd been here because of HIM...his fault that this man was dead.   
  
Life without Nuriko...gods, how was he going to do it? How could he even think about it?  
  
"Heika."  
  
Shaking and still clutching the lifeless body to his chest, Hotohori glanced up into the lamplit darkness, felt his gaze wavering from the blank looks of horror on Tasuki's face, Chiriko's face, Chichiri's face...and onto the tense, worried face of Mitsukake. Abruptly, he drew in a sharp breath, stared at the man as if seeing him for the first time.  
  
"Mitsukake!" he exclaimed, stretching out a hand towards the healer, beckoning him down to the floor, down to where Nuriko lay still and cold in the warmth of his own blood. "Mitsukake...onegai...can you help him? Is there anything you can do?"  
  
The man's features were dark and tense in the lamplight...but, he gave a curt nod, dropped to his knees on the other side, and closed his eyes softly. Mitsukake lifted a hand, held it lightly over Nuriko's nose and mouth...then let out a soft breath, shook his head slightly.  
  
"Not good," the healer murmured. "He's not breathing..."  
  
Hotohori felt the thin glimmer of hope fading away within him, dying as...dying as...oh, god...god! This...this couldn't be happening... All the times he'd sent Nuriko away...all the times he'd ignored him because he didn't want to deal with things...all the times he'd set him aside, given someone else precedence, found something else he'd needed to do first...now, he was never going to be able to make up for all those broken promises, all those desperate moments of choosing everyone and everything but this man...this man who lay dead and bloodied in his arms...Suzaku, why??  
  
"Wait," said Mitsukake firmly. His voice was low, solid...stern. "There's still a chance, Hotohori-sama. If...if his heart is still beating..." He trailed off, closed his eyes lightly. "Then, I can still save him."  
  
Eyes wide, the fading warmth of Nuriko's flesh solid and cool against his skin, Hotohori watched as Mitsukake lifted his hand, watched as he gently spread apart the crisscrossed neckline of Nuriko's robe...watched as he pressed his palm against the smooth, pale skin of the young seishi's chest. He waited, barely breathing, barely thinking...seeing only that large, trembling hand, those long, stretching fingers...gods...gods...  
  
Abruptly, however, Mitsukake sat back onto his heels, squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "Hotohori-sama, let go of Nuriko."  
  
He stared at the man, confused and a bit taken aback. "N...nani?"  
  
"Let go of him! Now!"  
  
Startled and just as confused as ever, Hotohori gently lowered Nuriko to the bloodied boards of the floor, sat back...and watched, awed and in shock, as Mitsukake lifted his hand, held it palm outward...and a soft green glow began to swarm around those large fingers, trickle up and down the veins like a living river of light...streak down through the darkness and bathe Nuriko in a cool, otherworldly glow.  
  
//Onegai,\\ he prayed silently, watching as the ragged wound in Nuriko's side began to stitch itself back up, as the torn blue fabric of his robe began to weave itself back together, become clean and fresh and new once more. //Onegai, Suzaku...let him live! Onegai...!\\  
  
A few moments later, Mitsukake sat back and let out a heavy sigh, leaned his back against the wall. His eyes closed in exhaustion.   
  
"Well?" Tasuki demanded, his voice sudden and gratingly-loud in the thick silence. His words shook, just slightly...and his eyes were wide and fearful. "Is he gonna...is he gonna @(*@&# be all right?"  
  
"If he is," Mitsukake said slowly, "we'll know it very soon. If not..." He let out a soft breath, closed his eyes in genuine anguish. "If not," he repeated in a stronger voice, "then we'll know even sooner. All we can do is wait."  
  
"Wait," Hotohori echoed softly. He closed his eyes, shook his head slightly as if to clear away the events of the evening...and pressed his lips together into a tight, thin line. "Wait," he whispered.   
  
All they could do was wait.  
  
--- 


	4. Part I: Farewell, Miaka...Forever / Seg...

"Clover and Lilacs" - continued from 3  
  
---  
  
Part I: Farewell, Miaka...Forever.  
Segment 4: Resurrection  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
The first thing he noticed was the breeze against his skin.  
  
It was cool, clean, tinged with the fragrance of blooming lilacs and rainy, moistened earth, accented softly by other, more muted scents. It swept over his face and the bare skin of his chest, ruffled the soft, silken cloths against his limbs, brushed at the damp, sticky hair clinging to the sides of his face. Exalting in the bliss of the warm morning wind over his body, Nuriko breathed.  
  
At first, he couldn't remember where he was or what had happened, knew only that he was lying in a cool, comfortable place, his skin felt clean and powdery and fresh...and--except for the occasional singsongy twitter of the nearby birds--it was very, very quiet. His own breathing suddenly seemed very loud in comparison, the gentle thud of his heartbeat a hammering cry against the silence...so, he opened his eyes. Immediately, a wash of light and sensation swept over him in a violent, unexpected rush, left him blinking and startled and confused...but, he bore it, forced himself to draw in another long, loud breath, let it out slowly, try to focus on the world around him...and on remembering. What had...what had happened?  
  
He frowned slightly, rising into a weak sitting position with some effort, and leaned his back against the intricate headboard of the bed as he gazed out at the room around him. It was, he realized immediately, most definitely not his room. It was too large, for one thing, too spacious and artfully-decorated--there was a thick mat of rich, plush red carpeting spanning almost the entire length of the room, stretching from the wide, delicately-carved double doors to the rich mahogany of the breakfast table to the silk-curtained doorway of the bath room. There were marble statuettes and other artworks scattered in various places about the room, several silver-framed mirrors of various sizes and shapes clinging to the walls, and even a small potted plant in the corner, rising like a tiny tree towards the smooth, polished wood of the ceiling.   
  
Where in the name of Suzaku was he??  
  
Tentatively, very aware of the fact that he was moving gingerly despite the fact that he felt mostly fine, Nuriko swung his legs over the side of the bed, let his bare feet sink into that rich, velvety carpeting...he sighed. Wherever he was...it was certainly something he could get used to...   
  
As he sat there, the gentle breeze sweeping in from the nearby window, he took a moment to glance down at himself, noticed he was clad in a soft, silken robe that was not his own--it was a very light, satiny blue, hanging loosely down from his slim shoulders, baring the smooth, flat skin of his chest before it bunched at his stomach, cinched tight against his waist with a thin length of gold ribbon. The robe itself reached only to about the middle of his thighs, but it covered all it needed to cover, and was extremely, extremely comfortable. But, again, like the room, it wasn't his own. What had happened?  
  
Nuriko closed his eyes, tried to focus, concentrate... He remembered...he remembered the summoning ceremony very clearly, and walking down the stairs with the other seishi--Hotohori had been carrying Miaka, he remembered, and then... He drew a sharp breath, a dark, angry pain thudding into the pit of his stomach.   
  
Miaka. Nakago... He'd nearly died.  
  
His eyes fluttered gently open, and, moving with a kind of fearful hesitancy, Nuriko lifted one slim arm from where it dangled at his side, brought a hand to his chest...and pressed his palm against warm, smooth, unbroken skin. He closed his eyes again, let out a soft breath. Mitsukake must've healed him...   
  
But...but, for some reason...it felt like it had been longer than just a night...as if...as if he'd lain there with that wound in his side for a lot longer, as if an eternity had swallowed him up, dragged him away...he let out a soft breath through parted lips, hung his head and tried to focus on the warmth of his own skin, the gentle tide of his breathing...the reassuring thud of his heartbeat.  
  
He was alive. Whatever had happened, however close it had been...he was alive. For now...maybe that was all that mattered.  
  
---  
  
He'd drifted off again, was just beginning to feel the angry growls of his very empty stomach...when, gradually, he became aware of something cool touching his face, drawing him up out of sleep... Inhaling a deep, full breath, Nuriko blinked, let his eyes come fully open...and found himself staring up into a pair of wide, surprised amber eyes. The breath caught in his lungs. Hotohori...  
  
Hotohori let out an audible sigh of air, lifted the cool compress from the smaller man's forehead and returned it with a splash to its bowl. "Thank god," he breathed, closing his eyes lightly in thanks. Those eyes flickered open again a moment later, stared down at him with a weak, desperate kind of relief. "Nuriko...how do you feel?"  
  
Startled by the very real concern in the young emperor's voice, the violet-haired seishi dragged himself up into a sitting position, leaned once more against the cool wood of the headboard. "I'm all right," he replied softly, drawing in another long breath, letting it flit slowly from between his parted lips. He frowned a moment, then, suddenly very aware of the dragging heaviness to his muscles, the suffocating fatigue washing over every muscle, every nerve...and, gods, he was hungry! It felt like he hadn't eaten for a week...  
  
"How long has it been?" he asked suddenly. "And...and, Miaka--is she...?"  
  
The young emperor sighed softly, settled himself lightly on the edge of the bed. "Miaka was taken to Kutou," he said slowly, his voice very low...almost pained. "Nakago is holding her. Chichiri thinks that perhaps he wants her to use one of her wishes for his sake...but, of course, Miaka won't do that. We've been working at getting around their defense for most of the last few days, while you were...out."  
  
So...it had only been a few days...but, Miaka was in Kutou... A sudden thought striking him, Nuriko felt a frown slipping onto his features, stared out at Hotohori with narrow, puzzled eyes. "Why doesn't she just use one of her wishes to get herself back here?"  
  
Hotohori shook his head slowly. His eyes, suddenly, were fixed on the door, the wall, anywhere but on Nuriko's face...what was going on? "She can't," the young emperor said quietly. His voice was low...tense.   
  
"Why can't she? She has two left...she'd still be able to wish herself home with the last one..."  
  
Amber eyes still trained on the wall, Hotohori again shook his head, drew in a shallow breath. "No," he said, very softly. "She doesn't have two left, Nuriko. Only one."  
  
The violet-haired seishi frowned, uncomprehending. "One?" he echoed. "What'd she use the other one for?" His eyes narrowed, a chill, dark fear building in the pit of his stomach. "Not for Nakago..."  
  
Hotohori shook his head. "No. No...not for that." The man sat there in silence for another long moment, gazing up at the intricate weavings of the wall tapestries...then, finally, he drew in a deep breath, turned and regarded Nuriko with wide, solemn eyes. "Miaka used her second wish...to bring you back to life, Nuriko."  
  
--- 


End file.
